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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647639">Never Meant</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valledorthedragon/pseuds/Valledorthedragon'>Valledorthedragon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Meant to Be and Never Meant [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Gladio and Iggy sort of show up at the end, Just not in this one, Not as it Seems, Zegnautus but ramp up the angst, angsty Noct, how he found him, poor Noct has a tough time, prelude be sad but the original ends happy, prelude/alternate pov to an existing fic, searching for Prompto, there a happy ending I swear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valledorthedragon/pseuds/Valledorthedragon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Running through Zegnautus has Noct operating at his wits end, and it’s about to cause him a mistake. He really should’ve learned to think before acting after his short sighted actions had him throw Prompto off the train... but he didn’t. This time, the blame was all his. </p><p>Noct’s side of ‘Meant to Be’</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Meant to Be and Never Meant [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Never Meant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ragged breathes tore through his worn raw windpipe. Chest heaving with a near physical effort as he smothered an arm across his face- an excuse to spend a moment, however brief, hidden from the world. A useless shield of reality hidden behind the double desire to wipe his face of sweat and loose hair. </p><p>He was at his wit’s end, exhausted, all alone- he had no idea how long it’d been since he last ate, let alone when he last slept- and no conceivable idea of when he’d be able to rest next. His fathers’ sword heavy and cumbersome in his hand. A sword that he’d pulled from Ravus (Ravus, the last of the oracle blood line, and Luna (the regretfully, painfully, gone Luna)’s only family’s corpse. He had no idea how to process that, and no luxury to allow himself to try, even as it spun in the back of his mind. </p><p>The agonising sap of the royal weapon he’d been forced to bear (all others now somehow sealed off from him) as draining as ever- only slightly fading with its task to dispatch its current target complete; leaving behind a bone weary exhaustion, which only compounded the constant weariness brought down on his soul from the toll of the ring he’d likewise been forced to don. He’d had no choice but to wield it for the sake of the his own life that it now chipped away at ever so finely and insistently. </p><p>He allowed himself a moment to pause; catch every traitorous breath that tried to escape him and gather what rapidly dwindling strength he could from the empty, lonely silence that surrounded him. No allies, no shield, no advisor, no kingdom, no father, no oracle- hundreds of miles away from home at that heart of the bastard empire that had stolen everything from him... and no one to rely on but himself. If a burden shared was a burden halved, then he’d only been carrying a fraction of the weight laid upon him until recently. Because now he felt the full brunt of it. An entire kingdom and even beyond- so many people, dead and alive- everyone was leaning on him now... This broken boy- barely a king- grasping at straws for the motivation to go on, and lacking a single friendly face to help him find the strength. </p><p>With every passing moment he felt like he began to understand that old visage of the dragon that devoured its own tail- consuming it’s own flesh so it might go on just a little longer. He was trembling from fatigue; and worse, never felt so alone. </p><p>The people that had so unshakeably stood by his side his entire life torn away, like someone had hacked a gaping chunk out of his side. The weeping wound of their absence a constant pain, as tangible as any daemon’s gash or soul sucking ring. Lost and alone, he stumbled through these metal halls off balance, like his world was off kilter. It made him wince internally to think of the times- several lifetimes ago- when he’d so craved to be without them, to have the independence of running solo. Now, there was nothing he wanted more. </p><p>There was something irreplaceably missing without them. He was stressed and on edge; a child without its safety blanket. Something as simple as the next way to go becoming infinitely more difficult, and breath seemed to come a little harder.  He’d breathe a lot easier if they were around. But they weren’t- Astrals only knew where they were right now. Trying to get back to him, he could only hope. Unless... </p><p>The only thing that matched the pain of his sorry state was his concern for theirs. Normally, he’d never be so afraid: the hand and shield that had so dedicatedly trained and grown alongside him since childhood would not be easily felled. But, they were at the heart of enemy territory now- one of them down their vital sight- and with that heartless beast of a psychopath that called himself chancellor running amok? His usual trust dampened concern over their wellbeing had spouted into a full fledged fear. </p><p>“Taking a little break are we? I guess your little friend doesn’t actually mean that much to you.” Said psychopath mused. His insufferable, heartless drawl had been hounding him his entire journey. Every passing comment only increasing the desire to summon every last power known to man and blast him into a trillion slimy pieces. “I mean, I suppose it isn’t all that urgent. It is just his life afterall.” The voice corrected coldly, stirring a violent fury in the lost, homeless prince. As if he had any idea what the people he cared about meant to him! He had no right to even insinuate they were anything less than the most important things in this entire forsaken world! They were the only thing pushing him on right now. This maniac couldn’t even begin to understand what they were to him- especially what He... what he meant... </p><p>He knew nothing of what they’d been through together. Of the reason he kept on slogging through this hell. The reason he continued to run further from the safety of his hand and shield. </p><p>Prompto. </p><p>He held his tongue, however. Biting back any scathing response- refusing to play the chancellor’s games- he instead shook himself back to the task at hand, and plunged ever onwards into the repeating halls of the Keep. Just as lost as when he’d first entered this place, but relentlessly forging on regardless. He had to find him. He couldn’t rest until he was safe. </p><p>Nothing- nothing had felt right since that vile day on the train. Because, if the loss of Gladio and Ignis had tipped his world off its axis, then that push- mistakenly shoving the one he was trying to save off the train in place of his true enemy- had thrown the sun from his sky. </p><p>He never realised just how much he took that sun for granted. All of its light and warmth so casually ignored, until Ardyn and himself had together cast it, and him, out of his life. He never knew how much he needed that light until it was gone. Things had been infinitely darker and colder without him, and not just because of the longer nights. The sparks of life and constancy he always so readily provided, warm and comforting as campfire. Small and weak, as he’d been in recent days- like a candle compared to the blazing brilliance of sunlight and laughter he’d been before, he still shone on. Still held steadfast to his friend who’d done very little to earn that. The second sun that didn’t have to be- leashed to his world willingly for nothing but the pure loyalty he’d had since high school. That very same loyalty which he oh so devastatingly forgot to appreciate like he should... and now he was gone, and it was. All. His. Fault. </p><p>Prompto had willingly followed Noctis into the gates of hell on this nightmarish road trip. He had every right to turn back, yet still he’d pressed on- and what did he get, for all his endless kindness and courage? A stab in the back and a push off a train- abandoned, and left, to the dogs of the empire. Thrown from the train like an unwanted pest, when that couldn’t have been farther from who he was- and by the hand of the one he’d trusted. </p><p>It tore him up inside whenever he thought about it. How could he have been so stupid?! How could he have let Ardyn play him for such an fool?! Prompto had given him everything! It made him sick to the stomach to think of the poor job he’d done repaying him all these years. As a child he‘d always written off those tales of loyalties and friendships, heroes and followers, as fantasy or artistic fanfare- and then he’d found it... and yet, like the most despicable characters in those stories, he’d thrown him aside like the blind fool. </p><p>He never felt like a worse or more vile human being than when he thought about that betrayal to the most undeserving. Prompto was one of the most warm hearted and trusting people he’d ever met- and he’d taken that trusting heart and crushed it. Like a monster. </p><p>He was a traitor. He’d betrayed his best friend. The knowledge clung to him like a dark crown. The traitor king; the turncoat prince, who abandoned his own. What kind of king could he be when he couldn’t even keep his own friend from falling into the hands of the empire- and worse, pushed him into their greedy claws himself? He dreaded to think of what could have happened to him since. </p><p>He tried not to linger on the past, with limited success- he just had to push onwards with everything he had. Because he was here, he had the chance to fix this- and by all the power of Lucis, he wouldn’t rest until Prompto was safe again and he could finally thank him for the severely thankless job that was being his friend. </p><p>He just had to find him. </p><p>He had to be somewhere in this Keep. It hadn’t escaped him, the joke that’d become of his life. The prince who entered the Keep, battling monsters to rescue the distressed (the Astrals must be positively wheezing). But, he wasn’t going to stop until he reached the end of whatever insidious fairytale fate had written for him, and he could run off into the sunset with whatever happiness he was allowed after. Provided, of course, that the sun would actually rise for another set, with the ever lengthening nights promising to eradicate daylight forever. But forget that sun- the Astrals could keep their coveted little star. He had a much more valuable light that needed saving; here, in this metal monolith of madness... and yet, in cruel twist of fate, the only guide to finding him was the unreliable object of his hatred, and proud tormentor (who also happened to be the one to make him push Prompto off the train in the first place). </p><p>He didn’t trust Ardyn as much as his could tolerate him, and his tolerance was razor thin. But he was his only chance at Prompto, and they both knew it. Still, he’d be damned if he let Ardyn get under his skin like this. He refused to let any of his fear or his worry show. He could curse his name a thousand times, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing him unravel. </p><p>The pounding of his resilient feet echoed through the corridors, testament to his determination to find his lost friend. But with each step it felt like he was running an endless treadmill. The illusion of progress constantly draining away into a meaningless mash of key cards and corridors- his destination feeling just as distant now as had hours ago. An endless, monotonous race going on and on and-. </p><p>There was a sudden, violent lunge at his leg. </p><p>Curses he didn’t have the breath to spare darting through his mind, as a broken metal shell grasped and snatched- tearing at his every limb. He lost balance, tumbling over in the fight against his assailant’s viscous grip. An inhuman howl of horrifying metallic noise drowned his ears, screeching from the monster’s deteriorating metal shell, empty red eyes burning. The sight usually reserved for horrors or nightmares, now terrifying written into reality- writhing and clawing on top of him. A hard kick to the gut just barely making enough room to jam his fathers sword into the faux soldier’s mechanics. The echoes of its howls fading as he took away whatever mockery of life had animated it. </p><p>Barely stopping to catch his energy, he was shoving it off and stumbling back to action again before any more derogatory remarks could come spouting through the corridors. </p><p>He gritted his teeth and drove on, fuelled on pure determination and fury. If it burned him up past the point of exhaustion and agony to make some damn progress in this place- if his body had to take the toll of each and every last step it took to get him closer to Prompto- then so be it. He was on a mission of rescue and redemption- and Ardyn was sorely mistaken if he thought he was going to back down from it now. </p><p>But still, he wondered... How many? How many of those metal things had he run into by now? He tried to run the encounters through his head, coming to a decisive and simple: too many. They were just endless. A constant stream of endless hurdles on the road that kept him from Prompto. He couldn’t afford any more stumbling blocks, he had to keep going and keep climbing. How many levels had he climbed now? How much further did he have to go? </p><p>His panting breath tightening in his chest with a grip that had nothing to do with exhaustion, as he swallowed down his pain. Where was he? Where was Prompto? He was willing to run himself ragged searching, but it didn’t make any passing second without the faintest clue where he was the slightest bit more bearable. </p><p>“Oh.” The sudden intrusion through the intercom captured his attention, without breaking his stride. “I’d hurry up if I were you, Noct. It looks he’s got himself into a little spot of trouble.” The scummy voice from on high warned- mild and barely interested, like he was watching some kind of spectator sport he was only half invested in, but it made his blood run cold. </p><p>Never. Not once had Ardyn ever mentioned any kind of danger to Prompto. It was always: ‘hurry up Noct’, ‘you really are lost, aren’t you’, ‘whoops, wrong way’, ‘time is of the essence, Noct’ and ‘I’d be going a little faster I were you- I’d be disheartened if I was your little friend’. All of it scathing, belittling and designed to torment. He knew how Ardyn’s twisted phrasing worked by now: slimy and manipulative- dragging him in to be a pawn in the mind games of which he had no choice but to play, and no idea of the rules. But this? However politely he might have phrased, Ardyn had never once used the word trouble. The iron giant of which he’d been lucky to escape from with his life from had been dubbed a ‘little pet’ so he genuinely dreaded to imagine what could be happening with Prompto right now. </p><p>He could be lying of course- he could be making it all up just to torment him even further... but then why now? </p><p>He shook himself out of his thoughts- he could ponder the snakes untrustworthy words later, in the end, it just didn’t matter. He couldn’t afford to take that chance. If there was a fragment of a sliver of a chance that Prompto was in any kind of danger, he was going to do everything in his power to get him out of there- safe, unharmed. He would be safe- they would escape- he had to... He refused to consider the alternative. </p><p>The thudding pump of a heart just barely held together after far too many breaks slowly crept up towards his throat. The Astrals could rot in hell, and be ground into dust for all he cared- if anything happened to him-... No- no. It wouldn’t. He’d see to it nothing happened. He would get him back. That drive, and the stubborn refusal to face any other outcome were all that kept him going. He could push aside the exhaustion, and the pain, that held down limbs with five times their usual weight- take on a thousand manic magitek monsters if he had to- but even still... he still couldn’t ignore the stab of the sword called fear, burying deeper into his chest and twisting with every movement. Acutely painful- but resolutely ignored. Anything and everything that might keep him from fulfilling his duties, he buried and hid deep within inner chambers of his conscious- he’d been trained to do this his whole life after all. </p><p>If there was one thing he was good at it, it was cutting and casting aside pieces of his own thoughts and self, even to the detriment of his own self expression. He hardly even grinned or cracked a smile when his friends made him happy- couldn’t tell them how grateful he was for all of them, and he so often hated it... but it was necessary. </p><p>He had always felt things so much more deeply than he was ever allowed to show, but the ‘greater good’s, the ‘must be done’s and the ‘have to be’s... they all took precedent over himself. His own thoughts, feelings and desires were secondary to the needs of the world around him- always had been... and right now that world revolved around Prompto. </p><p>He couldn’t fail now. There was almost nothing that peppy blond wouldn’t do for him- and it was his turn to returning the favour. As if this quest of rescue and salvation could somehow communicate years of voiceless appreciation and give back all that he owed him when it couldn’t even come close. But, for all the many, many, fights of Prompto having his back now it was his turn to, for once, finally have his. </p><p>He wouldn’t let him down- it would all be fine. This was just the latest in a long line of scrapes and mishaps the two had gotten into since all the way back in  high school. Granted, this was a notably more dangerous situation than any other before- far away from the buried shambles of what they’d once called home- but that didn’t matter. They’d see their way through this mess, and get out of it together- unharmed, and with nothing but an exciting tale to tell for it; maybe give Ignis a good heart attack as he normally did when he heard of it later. He’d pin his fingers to the bridge of his nose as he always did whenever he caught winds of their ever disasterous antics; Gladio would chance an opportunity to swat him at the back of his head when Ignis wouldn’t notice and maybe he probably wouldn’t manage to dodge, causing Prompto to give the big guy an uneasy, wide berth for the rest of the evening. </p><p>He held on to those moments. </p><p>Those little scraps of peace and comfort, like loose flying threads of an unravelling blanket of warmth and trust. The moments that held him together in a world gone mad, cast into darkness and turned against him. He needed those tiny moments of normalcy- little, treasured fragments of something to hold onto in order to keep him looking forwards. He had to keep moving forwards to that next quiet moment, because if he didn’t? Then, the reality of the future fraught but trials and darkness would sink in far too deep into his mind, and swallow him in its dark waters. He had to believe everything was going to be alright, because if not... he didn’t know what he’d do. He might just drown. </p><p>“Oh dear, this really isn’t looking good.” </p><p>His feet kicked a little harder- whispers of curses flitting through his breath at the terrifying words- breaking the limits of his own physical capacity to carry himself even deeper into the belly of the beast Zegnautus. Whether in the windpipe, the stomach or deep into the guts on this monster- he was going to find Prompto and get him out of this thing, no matter how deep. </p><p>“I really rather think you should hurry- oh.” </p><p>A burst of terror masquerading as adrenaline swept through his system- wiped away his exhaustion- as the maze of corridors finally opened up into a wide open hangar he didn’t bother to give himself the time to process the room itself, because the second he had entered it a mechanical grind that had been thrumming beneath his feet for a just a few seconds before the adrenaline burst finally recieved physical form. </p><p>The mechanical groans belonged to two towering hangar doors on the far side wall, the stone jaws slowly prising open. It could’ve been a storage unit, a side room of some sort, or literally any other kind of space like the thousands of others in this place, but he’d followed enough of Ardyn’s twisted hints to know when he was babying the way forwards. He didn’t even stop to question it - throwing himself at the slowly widening gap Ardyn had been so deliberately insisting he pass through. </p><p>The chancellor had been fervently insisting he get a move on for a while now... and now a doorway had been opened up right in front of him? With the sudden pressure and more active interest in Prompto’s current state, did he dare think the madman was implying he might even be close? Was there he was right even? Through that door, there could lie the end of his journey- this agonising string of longing might finally meet its end. He almost didn’t want to get his hopes up, but if he’d read Ardyn’s stupid subliminal messaging correctly this could finally be the door that leads him straight to him. He could be there! </p><p>Stumbling much like the blond would’ve done, he panted brokenly- tearing towards the door with a desperate abandon he would’ve never expected from himself. He didn’t know how close, or how far- he could be right there, it it could be another trick. But, he had a direction. He was on the right track at long last... and if Ardyn dared turned this into another one of his illusory games, he was going to wish he was dead for the hell he would he pay for tormenting him so. </p><p>He had memories- far too many memories- of a familiar blond mop of hair mockingly sat atop blank, metal masks and hollow, mechanical shells... as if his Prompto was anything like those mindless things. They held only a passing resemblance to something human, and yet the chancellor seemed to Take such immense joy in letting him struggle to approach every single one, for the chance he simply couldn’t ignore that what he was seeing might truly be him... only for the mirage to fall away. Leaving him with yet another a blank, staring machine, mangled with madness, lunging at him in a way he knew Prompto never would- even if he’d almost deserve it, and wouldn’t blame him at this point. </p><p>This better not be another trick. If behind this door turned out to be yet another mechanical mockery of his best friend, there wasn’t a single place on all of Eos Ardyn would be safe from his wrath. </p><p>The doors were drawing closer- he was almost there now. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, still sprinting, letting his body take over the motion, as he prayed to every last one of the Six that he would find him there. Even Leviathan. As much as he despised that man hating serpent- if there was even a fraction of a chance her divine intervention might somehow grant his wish, and will the fates in his favour, he would take it. Please, he thought... please let me find him. Please... let him save him. </p><p>“Ahh... such a tragedy...” The disembodied voice drawled, sounding abnormally put out. He tried to ignore it, focus on what he was doing this for, before his legs could give out from under him. For Prompto. For Prompto. For Prompto. </p><p>The doors finally came to a jolting halt, and he threw himself at the opening. </p><p>“I’m afraid, my dear prince... you’re just too late...” </p><p>Any hope he’d had got slapped from his body- just as he crashed into the doorway. His entire universe crashing alongside him. </p><p>...What was this? </p><p>What was this image his eyes seemed insistent on stamping across brain? </p><p>It was a vision from his very worst nightmares, his mind was trying to label as reality. </p><p>Why... why was it... That couldn’t be real- this was-... This had to be another illusion... it couldn’t possibly-... </p><p>Yet another metal shell of an empty Imperial soldier- sagging and groaning, broken in front of him. It was barely being able to stand. Just one, like the many thousands of others... and yet he couldn’t seem to look away. </p><p>His eyes, so painstakingly painting a vision of heartbreak- burning it so vividly into his skull- refused to let him look anywhere else. Because, there... at its feet... A beaten and torn scrap of an oh so familiar jacket. </p><p>The Crownsguard insignia stared blankly at the ceiling, half swallowed in the ruins of a broken garment. The symbol of his own, the symbol of his protector- and, on this jacket, the symbol of a heart destroyed. Two. That of the former bearer, and the one who bore witness to the corpse of the jacket he once knew. </p><p>It’s comforting presence there for him through every step of this long arduous journey. The insignia winking at him cheekily as the wearer dashed on ahead on chocobo back, goading him to give chase; bending and twisting to meet the high demands of a flexible, hyperactive photographer needing to get the perfect shot; passing glimpses of it as it stood by him with warmth and reliability, wandering around the campfire; and casting him ever aware looks of concern- watching over him even on the darkest and rainiest of desolate days. </p><p>That jacket had stood with him throughout every low and high moment of this Six forsaken road trip... and there it lay dead in front of him. </p><p>It struck him with a pain he could not have even imagined, because he’d refused to ever allow it‘s bitter downfall even enter his mind as a possibility. </p><p>There was a sound then, if any had cared to listen for it, of a many times broken heart breaking apart at the seams. The strings that used to hold it together, blasted apart with nuclear force- agony tearing it into a thousand crying pieces. A too familiar, too intense feeling of concentrate pain incarnate careening deep into the chasm of his destroyed chest, knocking every known sense out of his mind... and then, just as suddenly as his mind had been turned to torture, it just as suddenly turned to fury. </p><p>The fragmented shards of his shattered broken heart sharpening ruthlessly into razor points. Molten rage bubbling and writhing beneath his skin in an uncontained fury that set his very bones alight with all the burning fury of Ifrit himself. The vengeful inferno building and gathering in every pained muscle, coiled and spitting- rising up with a volcanic energy, and channelled deep into his searing blade as he cast it out before him. </p><p>A silent, deadly flick. </p><p>It flew. </p><p>Soaring like the raging wind itself with as time entered a very static, charged pause. </p><p>Bracing himself and vibrating being to follow, the almighty torrent of burning anger brewing throughout his veins, teetering on the edge of eruption. In a blink of a splintered, weaponised heart.</p><p>He warped. </p><p>Bellowing his fury at the monster that had committed such a heinous sin, he reasserted crushing grip around his hungry blade- his initial toss only glancing the side. Not enough- not enough! Let it die! Let it bleed and suffer! Let it feel a thousand deaths of the most agonising torture for what it did! He swung- a deep, sweeping arc aiming for its head- raging all the more as it missed, and finally- viscously- throwing himself into a tempest of deadly flurries and strokes. Any form of skill and strategy usually granted a blade in battle cast aside into the blazing furnace lit by pain, stoked with revenge. </p><p>He was no more than a raging beast, with a single, bladed limb, drawing upon every last power of destructive he’d ever had- all but that most hated ring. That would have killed him far too quickly, far too cleanly. He wanted to see it beaten- he wanted to see it battered, slashed,  dismembered, town. He wanted this mechanical death puppet to be writhing. Suffering. Burn it. Break it. Kill it. Hack it apart into a thousand pieces- melt it down into less than scrap, and then shattered again- and again- and again- and again. For all eternity, he wanted this thing to suffer and burn for what it’d done- even as he himself burned up in the process. </p><p>He’d burned himself up using determination, in order to get himself here sooner, and now, he burned himself up in order to break. To shatter. To tear himself apart in the blaze of revenge to just get away from the pain simply too immeasurable, too much for his fractured heart to cope. </p><p>But, for how long could he burn like this... and what would he be left once the ashes remained... An empty husk, a hollow soldier- no longer a king, and barely even a human being. By the time his fury would let up, he would be no better than an MT himself... and he was perfectly okay with that. Had chosen that fate. </p><p>Too damaged by pain and suffering, so burned and lost, brought to the edge of what was no longer bearable. He was actively self destructing. Welcoming the blissful numbness of a dead mind that would come afterwards- because then, at least... he wouldn’t feel any more... and so he burnt, cast himself into the fires of revenge, and set himself upon the mindless husk of a machine even he slowly shrivelled, blackened and decayed to charcoal. Some could sustain on vengeance alone for years at a time, but he likely didn’t have the heart. The flames would keep him warm for a few days, maybe a week at most, and then by then he’d be hollow. </p><p>As the flames reached their inevitable peak, he sealed his fate. A final, thrusting blow burying itself deep into the hard wired, steel stomach of the beast he so despised. His grip on his sword remained unrelenting as he staring deep into the lightless sensors of its eyes. This thing had killed his light. This thing died here... and so did he. The world without the sun was just a dark, lifeless husk... and that’s all he was. </p><p>He let the blade sink deeper watching it’s dying movement slow,  revelling in its struggle and suffering. A final, mindless gauntleted hand reaching out towards nothing... its limbs weakening, slowly losing the ability to keep the vile thing up... and then... it fell. </p><p>The deafening clatter reverberating off the walls. </p><p>Gone... if only the prince could be so lucky.  There was no way he was going to let it live, but he couldn’t help but envy its liberation from the cruelties of life. </p><p>He still had a task to do of him, but all he could bring himself to do was just... stand. His breath so heavy, it took a concerted effort for him pull it into his lungs, the motion spreading across his whole body with deep, sweeping arcs, until suddenly it hitched, and stiffened. Trembled a little. He shook it off with a sniff. </p><p>Emotions were starting to rage war against the protective walls he’d do carefully cultivated since childhood. He couldn’t let them win. He had a duty- he had a purpose... </p><p>...He swayed a little, staring blankly at the floor... What did that matter?</p><p>So what if he was a prince, a chosen king, or even ruler of all Eos- what was the point of any of this?! Why could he still do nothing? He couldn’t even protect... and now the rest of the world was sure to follow. The sun would go down, the demons would rise, and thousands would die because their pathetic king couldn’t save anyone. What was the point? </p><p>His dead eyes moved to the carcass of the slain magitek soldier... just another a mindless, metal pawn in the game gods and monsters... just like him. It didn’t matter what title you were given- in this game, you were all pawns in the end. </p><p>He nudged it dispassionately with his foot, bracing ready to pull his blade free, when when he noticed a part of it that had already emerged from the casket. </p><p>...It came away streaky. Red. </p><p>A substance that didn’t belong with electronics. </p><p>Something in his own blood churned as it recognised its own. At once, he felt dizzy and weak. Suddenly cold, as a slight tremor worked its way through his system- instinctively reacting to the information his mind had yet to process. A simple, yet unshakeable truth. </p><p>Machines. </p><p>Didn’t. </p><p>Bleed. </p><p>He didn’t quite know why the sight of that blood seemed to leeched all the air from the room- his thoughts of fear and paranoia losing themselves somewhere between the concrete and abstract, as if some part of him knew something that it just didn’t have the capacity to put into words... or perhaps was too terrified to risk speaking such unspeakable things into existence. He didn’t know why he was suddenly,  unsettlingly, fixated on the metal case. Some unnameable, ominous pull- like gravity- moving him towards it against his own fear. The part of him that understood was overcome with fear, and dread. </p><p>It took him to its head. </p><p>Some distant, physical part of himself heard voices he just didn’t have the mind to pay attention to- they were distant somehow. Gladio and Ignis, each speaking things disassociated with his mind. He might have heard Prompto’s name mentioned, but he was too fixated on the on whatever silent compulsion was drawing him towards the masked, mechanical skull. </p><p>The fading flames of his self defeating fury danced faintly in his mind- a small piece of him had yet to be consumed by the fire... and that part of him still felt. </p><p>He didn’t know why he reached for the mechanical mask- why it terrified him so. Why dread seemed to have conjured up a tangible serpent coiling round his throat... his hands were still shaking absently, like they belonged to someone else. Moving almost without his permission as they felt for the cold, steel grill... and pressed into it with as much fragile strength he had... summoning what little grip he could... and pulled. </p><p>Some part of him must have known what he would find. There had been one thing conspicuously absent when he came across this scene- one thing, if only he’d had the presence of mind to stop, and think, and consider, for once. </p><p>He knew why he feared the contents of this soldier’s husk so much his mind had finally caught up with the crucial missing piece of the picture too late. Prompto’s jacket was laying torn and ruined on the ground, the fabric as good as destroyed... so where was he? </p><p>Noct’s mind had been running on terror, he’d been at his wit’s end for days, he was bound to be a little slow on the uptake... but it might just have cost him everything. He always had moved to act before giving careful consideration to the situation around him- he felt before he thought. A constantly proven, repeating fact that had brought no end of struggle to the retainers tasked with keeping him safe over the years, and he never learned. No matter how many times fell, he still refused to look before he leapt. He simply didn’t use his eyes... and now, not once had his blind, short sighted actions lead to Prompto getting thrown off a train, but they just might have done something even worse. </p><p>To fool him once was a cruel thing, but to fool him twice? That shame was his own to bear... he really had messed things up this time. </p><p>There. Inside the soldier... was Prompto.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dun dun duuunnnnn dramatic ending!!! At least if you haven’t already read the big sister fic that inspired it. Go check it out if you want to see Prompto’s side of it and see what happens next^^ </p><p>Big thanks to kirallie for inspiring me to write this thing, wouldn’t have thought to write Noct’s pov otherwise </p><p>Hope you enjoyed this giant dose of angsty boy, I’m heading off to write much happier, wilder fic^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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